More Important Things
by keeptheotherone
Summary: "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things-friendship and bravery..." Seven missing moments in Hermione's journey from misfit to heroine.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Written for the Seven Years at Hogwarts Competition by Weasley Seeker. I will be updating on Wednesdays as usual. The quote in the summary is from: Rowling, J. K. _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. _Bloomsbury: London, 1997, p. 208. Oh, yeah, and the rest of the stuff you recognize belongs to JKR too :)

* * *

_September 1, 1991_

Hermione Jean Granger stopped her trolley between platforms nine and ten and turned to her parents. ″This is where we say goodbye.″

The lines on her mother's forehead deepened. ″But we haven't even found the train yet, Hermione. I want to make certain—″

″Miss Alden told me how to find the platform,″ Hermione said with more confidence than she felt. While her parents had agreed to let her attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry after the visit from a Muggle Relations representative (and much begging by Hermione), they had more and more misgivings as the day of her departure approached. She couldn't show any hesitation, not now, or they would send her to that dreadful all-girls' school in Kent. She had hated it from the first pamphlet picture. ″I'll be fine, Mum. I'll write to you tonight, I promise.″

″Well, do be careful. Make sure you eat breakfast every morning, and work hard, and don't forget to floss before bed.″

″I won't.″ Hermione hugged her mother, taking in the faint citrus scent of her soap and fighting the urge to bury her face in her cardigan.

″Take care of yourself, Princess,″ her dad said, hugging her tightly and lifting her off the floor. ″And remember, you don't have to stay at this new school. If you don't like it, you can come home any time. Just let us know.″

″I'm going to like it, Daddy. I won't be strange there. I'll fit in this time.″ _Please, please let me fit in!_

Her mother brushed an imaginary piece of lint off the shoulder of her robes and made a futile attempt to smooth her hair. ″Well, go on then. We love you.″

″I love you too.″ Hermione smiled at her parents, looked around furtively, and pushed her trolley towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

She did it! She wasn't surprised, not really; after all, the spells from her schoolbooks had worked without difficulty, but that was in the privacy of her own room, with her own wand. Hermione slipped her hand into her pocket, feeling the smooth vine wood with a dragon heartstring core. Imagine, dragons were real, and part of one was in her wand! She looked around, pushing her trolley away from the billowing steam at the head of the train. Owls hooted, cats meowed, and off to the right, a chubby boy chased after an escaping toad. As she walked, Hermione began to feel self-conscious; no one was in their school robes. She had overridden her parents' objections, thinking wearing them would help her to blend in with the other pupils, but she stuck out here just as much as she had in the Muggle station. Why was it that no matter what she did to fit in, it was always wrong?

It was just past 10:30, but having no friends to catch up with, Hermione lugged her trunk onto the train and found an empty compartment. She took out _Hogwarts, A History—_her new favorite book—and settled herself in a seat next to the window. Thirty minutes later, as the train pulled out of the station, she was only pretending to read. She had left the compartment door open, but although some people had looked in, no one asked if they could join her. No one had joined her. She was all alone, just like—

Hermione slammed the book shut and stared out the window. _Please, please don't let them make fun of me. I made certain everything about my uniform meets the dress code, I got new shoes, Mum wrote my name on all of my clothes, even my socks and knickers. Let the girls in my dormitory—even if it's not Gryffindor, although I think it sounds by far the best—please just let them be nice. Miss Alden said there would be other Muggle-borns too. Please don't let me be the only one who sticks out. I've read all my schoolbooks, and _Modern Magical History _and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Centrury, _and I've read _Hogwarts, A History_ three times already. Please, please, PLEASE don't let me say or do anything stupid, especially not in front of the teachers. Please, just—_Hermione forced the image of her grammar school classmates out of her mind and swiped her sleeve across her cheeks.

_Please, just let me fit in this time._


	2. Chapter 2

_September 1, 1992_

Hermione looked around Platform Nine and Three-Quarters but saw no sign of Ron or Harry anywhere. But she was early, and the boys were never early for anything. Unless you counted meals; Ron was always on time to eat. Unconcerned, she hauled her trunk onto the train and found an empty compartment. She would just review _Magical Me_ while she was waiting.

Thirty minutes later, as the train pulled out of the station, Hermione turned a page without seeing it. They were here somewhere; she had spotted the Weasleys on the platform right before eleven o'clock. Ron and Harry must have run into some other friends and just hadn't made it this far down the train yet.

_Or maybe_, said a nasty voice, _they got their own compartment without even looking for you._

No. Ron and Harry were her friends. They wouldn't abandon her—

_They've been together for a whole month at the Burrow. They probably decided they don't want to be friends with a girl, especially a know-it-all nightmare._

She stood up, stuffing _Magical Me_ back in her trunk and wishing she'd had room for _Hogwarts, A History._ Ron's comment from Halloween still stung, even if he had apologized. This summer was the first test of their friendship, and she had been nervous the boys would forget about her. Harry hadn't written to her at all, but Ron had. He hadn't replied to every letter, but he _was_ a boy. She had seen both of them in Diagon Alley, and everything seemed okay. Harry explained about the house elf stealing his letters, and Ron teased her about all the parchment she bought. But what if—

_They were just being nice because your parents and Ron's were there. They weren't really interested in spending time with you, or they would have found you by now. They know you would get here early and save a place for them. After all, it's not like you have any other friends to sit with._

She slammed her trunk lid shut and gritted her teeth. If there was one thing Hermione Granger knew about relationships, it was how to tell when she wasn't wanted.

()()()()

Hermione looked up and down the Gryffindor table in vain. Ron and Harry weren't here, and Percy was beside himself. He had been up and down the table three times, but no one had seen Ron or Harry in the carriages, or at Hogsmeade Station, or on the Hogwarts Express, or on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, or anywhere at all. Fred and George seemed to be the last people to have seen them (on the Muggle side of the station), and their unconcerned attitude and jokes about the boys deciding to fly the family car were not improving Percy's mood.

The doors to the Entrance Hall opened and Professor McGonagall appeared, leading a line of first years. As the new pupils began lining up in front of the head table, Hermione spotted a short ginger girl with a long, familiar nose. Ron wouldn't miss his sister's Sorting; something must have happened.

Hermione sagged in her seat. They hadn't snubbed her; they never caught the train at all. Inexplicably relieved at the idea of Ron and Harry in trouble, she cheered and clapped with the rest of her housemates as each new Gryffindor, including Ginny, was added. Hermione lingered over her dinner (she had been too upset to eat on the train) and took her time leaving the Great Hall, eavesdropping on as many conversations as she could. Even students from the other houses were talking about a flying car and expulsion. What had the boys done this time?

When she turned the corner into the seventh-floor corridor, Ron and Harry were staring blankly at the Fat Lady. Hermione broke into a run.

″_There_ you are! Where have you _been_? The most _ridiculous_ rumors—someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying _car._″

″Well, we haven't been expelled,″ Harry assured her.

″You're not telling me you _did_ fly here?″ said Hermione severely.

″Skip the lecture,″ said Ron impatiently, ″and tell us the new password.″

″It's 'wattlebird,' ″ said Hermione impatiently, ″but that's not the point—″

Her words were cut short, however, as the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and there was a sudden storm of clapping. Ron and Harry were swept into a cheering crowd, and Hermione's fake scowl of disapproval went unnoticed.

_The point is, you didn't forget about me._

* * *

a/n: Hey, guys, it's a slightly early post because I had a bad day and really need some cheering up, AKA reviews ;) Thanks for reading!

The dialogue is a quote from Rowling, J. K. _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_. Bloomsbury: London, 1998, p. 66.


	3. Chapter 3

_January 2, 1994_

Hermione slammed her Divination book shut. The noise drifting from the common room up to the dormitories had been steadily increasing over the last thirty minutes and had finally reached a level incompatible with revising. She estimated she was one week ahead in reading for every subject; she hoped it was enough to allow her to go to bed by midnight, at least for a week or so. Professor McGonagall had insisted Hermione use the Time Turner for lessons only, and towards the end of last term she had been having difficulty completing homework for twelve lessons in the same amount of time everyone else had for nine or ten.

″Still hard at work, I see.″ Ginny Weasley dropped onto the foot of Hermione's bed.

″I just quit for the night. It's too loud now that everyone's back.″

Ginny made a show of checking her watch. ″And it's barely eight o'clock. You must have got a lot done over the break.″

Hermione nodded, sorting her books according to what she would need the next day.

″Why aren't you downstairs with Ron and Harry? It's our last night of holiday.″

Hermione shrugged, not looking up. If she turned her Arithmancy book just so, she could get Muggle Studies and Transfiguration in this pocket of her bag too. . . .

″Hermione.″

″We had a difference of opinion,″ Hermione said stiffly.

″About?″

Hermione glanced around, but her dormitory was empty and the door closed. Quickly, she explained about Harry's racing broom and her suspicion that it came from Sirius Black.

″A Firebolt?″ Ginny breathed, wide-eyed. ″A real Firebolt? Hermione, how could you take that away from him?″

″I might have known you would take his side. You always do when it comes to Harry.″

″I do not.″ Ginny flicked one braid over her shoulder, but her face was turning red. ″I just meant—a real Firebolt! Gryffindor would be unstoppable!″

″Not if Harry crashes, we wouldn't!″ Hermione retorted. ″There's something funny about that broomstick. Who would buy Harry an expensive gift like that and not let him know?″

″Still . . . I can see why the boys are upset. Harry didn't even get to fly it!″

″I don't _want_ him to fly it because it's not _safe. _And Professor McGonagall agrees with me.″

″McGonagall could be wrong.″

Hermione scoffed at this heresy.

″So, you're giving up a perfectly good friendship over a hunch?″

″What kind of friend would I be if Harry got hurt because I did nothing? Besides, they're the ones who won't speak to me_._″

The girls turned at a scratching sound from the door, and Ginny (because Hermione was still surrounded by books and parchment) hopped up to let Crookshanks in. He jumped onto the bed and began rubbing himself against the corners of books.

Hermione watched Ginny croon over the animal and realized there was another way to get the younger girl on her side. ″Ron tried to kick him on Christmas.″

″Crookshanks?″ Ginny said indignantly. ″Whatever for?″

″He went after Scabbers.″ Granted, she probably shouldn't have brought Crookshanks into the boys' dormitory, but she hadn't wanted to leave him alone on Christmas morning.

″Honestly.″ Ginny rolled her eyes, scratching Crookshanks's chest as the large cat rolled over, paws outstretched. ″He's a _cat._ Cats chase rats. Crooks doesn't mean anything personal by it.″

″Tell it to Ron. He won't believe me.″

″Well, Ron's always been a bit dense, but he'll come round eventually. You can eat with me in the meantime, if you like.″

″Thanks.″ Hermione smiled. ″So, how was your Christmas?″

″The same as always, good food and another jumper. But guess what I heard on the train. . . .″


	4. Chapter 4

_December 12, 1994_

Hermione burst through the portrait hole and ran across the common room to the staircases leading to the girls' dormitories, yelling for her friend Ginny.

A red head appeared on the sixth landing. ″For heaven's sake, Hermione, what—″

Hermione shoved her inside the room, shut the door, and leaned against it. ″He asked me,″ Hermione gasped.

″What?″

″He asked me,″ Hermione repeated breathlessly. ″To the Yule Ball. I got asked to the _ball_!″

Ginny let out a shriek so loud and high-pitched Hermione expected the old glass in the windows to shatter, but they held firm. So did Ginny—she had grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and was shaking her excitedly. ″I can't believe he asked you!″

″I know!″ Hermione was grinning stupidly, but she couldn't help it. _She_ was going to a _ball_! With a _boy_!

″Tell me everything,″ Ginny demanded, dragging her to the bed. ″When did it happen?″

″Just now! I was in the library, and he left his table and walked over and said, 'It would be my pleasure to spend Christmas evening with you. Will you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to the ball'!″

Ginny's mouth fell open. ″He did not.″

Hermione nodded, sending her hair flying into her face. Her _hair,_ whatever would she do with her _hair_?

″There is no way my brother said _that_,″ Ginny said flatly.

″Your bro—_Ron_?″ Hermione pushed her hair out of her eyes, as if seeing Ginny would clarify what she said.

″Yes, Ron! Who else would we be talking about?″

Hermione felt herself blushing furiously, and in the rush of emotions and excitement was unable to stop it. ″Ron and I are just friends. Why would you think he asked me to the ball?″

Ginny rolled not just her eyes, but her whole head. ″I don't know, because you two fancy each other like mad?″

″I don't—I didn't—Ron doesn't—″

″Oh, please. Save your breath. You need it after running all the way up here. So, if it wasn't Ron, who asked you?″ Her face fell. ″It wasn't—not Harry?″

Hermione didn't miss the hopefulness in her friend's voice and put extra disdain into hers. ″Of course not.″

″_Who _then?″ Ginny leaned forward.

Hermione's cheeks heated further. ″Viktor Krum,″ she mumbled.

″_Victor Krum!_″ Ginny shrieked again, and Hermione pushed her into the pillows.

″Shhh! I don't want anyone to know.″

Ginny's eyes were round as Galleons. ″Viktor Krum,″ she whispered, sitting up. ″The international Quidditch star, the darkly handsome Durmstrang student, _that_ Viktor Krum?″

Hermione nodded, feeling the stupid grin spreading across her face again.

Ginny gaped, one hand over her mouth. Hermione settled herself more comfortably against the bedpost. It wasn't easy to obtain a piece of gossip juicy enough to shock popular, witty Ginny Weasley into silence. And not only had she obtained it, but it was about her, Hermione Granger!

″I can't believe it,″ Ginny said, still whispering. ″No, don't look like that, of course I'm not surprised he asked you.″ Her voice returned to normal. ″I told you he wasn't hanging around the library for the books.″

Hermione blushed again.

″Merlin, what are you going to _wear_?″

″I have new dress robes upstairs. All the fourth years had to bring them. Don't tell anyone—especially Ron and Harry. I want it to be a surprise.″

″Oh, it'll be that. Just think of the look on Pansy Parkinson's face when you stroll into the Great Hall on the arm of _Viktor Krum_!″

And both girls dissolved into giggles.


	5. Chapter 5

_September 7, 1995_

It was Saturday morning, and Hermione was sitting in the Gryffindor common room knitting more elf hats. Much to her delight, her stash from the summer was nearly depleted already, and she could not stand the idea of a house elf continuing in servitude because of her laziness.

″Where's Harry?″

″You're the one who shares a dormitory with him.″ Hermione continued counting rows; three more and she would need to cable.

″He's up already. I thought he would be down here.″

Hermione shook her head. ″I haven't seen him.″

″Maybe he's at breakfast. Let's go down and check.″

Smiling, she looked up. ″You don't want to look for Harry. You're just hungry.″

″Uh-huh. And if he's not there, he'll know where to find us. Let's go.″

″All right.″ Hermione set down her work and followed Ron through the portrait hole. They were approaching a shortcut when they heard a group around the corner.

″It's this way,″ said a girl.

″We just came from there,″ said a boy.

″We need to find someone to ask.″ Another girl's voice.

″I hear footsteps. Let's—″

A cluster of first-year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws entered the corridor and stopped abruptly at the sight of them.

″It's our prefects,″ a Gryffindor girl whispered.

Hermione recognized her from the first night, when she had led the first-year girls to their dormitory, but she didn't know her name.

″We can't ask them,″ said the dark-haired Ravenclaw girl. ″They're Harry Potter's friends!″

″It's okay,″ said the taller of the two Gryffindor boys as he stepped forward. ″I know Ron.″

Surely Ron hadn't had any more contact with the first years than she had, and Hermione was certain none of the first-year girls would say they knew her. In fact, this one looked immensely relieved that she didn't have to speak to Hermione.

″Hi, Robert, Euan,″ Ron said. ″Trying to find the Great Hall?″

All the children nodded.

″We know how to get there from Gryffindor Tower, but we went over to Ravenclaw Tower to meet our friends and—well, we got lost,″ Robert said, somewhat shamefaced.

″Don't worry. It took Harry and me a whole week to figure out how to get from Gryffindor Tower to the Great Hall.″ Ron pulled back the tapestry that concealed the shortcut and let the first-years and Hermione precede him.

″Really?″ the Ravenclaw boy asked.

″Really. Now Hermione here, she probably memorized the entire castle layout in about five minutes, but she's a genius.″ Ron winked at her.

Hermione swatted him. ″Shut up, Ron.″

″Ow! What kind of an example is that, to go around hitting people?″ Ron rubbed his arm gingerly and pulled a face, and the first-year girls giggled.

″I'm a prefect, I can do whatever I like,″ Hermione said loftily.

″Oh, we can, can we?″

Ron braced one hand on the wall in front of her, blocking her way, and leaned down, bringing those blue eyes and that lopsided grin much closer than usual. Hermione stumbled over the hem of her robe.

″Hey, I know where we are!″ Euan said.

Ron dropped his arm and turned around.

″The marble staircase is this way!″

The first years took off at a run, confident once again.

″No running in the corridors!″ Hermione called. They ignored her, and she sighed. ″You're so good with them.″

″What?″

″The kids—they like you. How did you know the boys' names?″

″I asked, Hermione,″ Ron said dryly.

They started down the marble staircase. ″I was thinking about all the things I needed to tell them on their first night, and I guess I forgot about introductions.″

″You try to act like their teacher. Just be their friend.″

″But we're not their friend. What happens when you have to discipline them for something?″

″What, are you planning to turn Harry in the next time he sneaks out under the Invisibility Cloak?″

″Of course not.″ Hermione sat down beside Ron, who had chosen the first open seat at the Gryffindor table. ″I'm just saying—″

″You worry too much, Hermione,″ Ron said, passing her the pitcher of orange juice.

″Morning,″ Harry said brightly.

″What are you looking so pleased about?″ said Ron.

″Erm . . . Quidditch later,″ said Harry happily, pulling a large platter of bacon and eggs towards him.

As the boys began an enthusiastic discussion about the game, Hermione realized her interlude with Ron was over. Sometimes, she really wished she liked flying.

* * *

a/n: I always had this idea that Ron was actually a good prefect when it came to interacting with the younger kids; he just did what his brothers had done for him (okay, maybe not Fred and George). And the icon is supposed to read: "Hello, my name is Hermione Granger. I like books, rules, school, studying, and redheads with broomsticks." *wink* Stupid squares vs. rectangles.

The last three lines of dialogue are a quote from: Rowling, J. K. _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_. Bloomsbury: London, 2003, pp. 256-57.


	6. Chapter 6

_March 2, 1997_

Hermione lay in bed, staring at the red velvet canopy. Hagrid had escorted her and Harry from Ron's bedside in the hospital wing earlier tonight, and she had gone to bed immediately but couldn't sleep. Her mind kept replaying everything that had happened between her and Ron over the last four-and-a-half months, everything since she'd asked Ron to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party, and landing on Ron calling her name.

He had called her name, hadn't he? He was ill and unconscious, but when he heard her voice, the first time she'd spoken since entering the hospital wing_, _he had said her name. Hermione's eyes welled with tears. How could she have let this go on for so long? Ron had been trying to make up with her for ages, since the beginning of term. What if—what if Harry hadn't been there when Ron was poisoned? What if the bloody Prince hadn't written about bezoars in that bloody book? What if she never had the chance to tell Ron—

Tired of crying about it, Hermione threw back the covers and opened her bed curtains. Parvati and Lavender were sound asleep. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt; as far as she knew, no one had told Lavender that Ron had been poisoned. Hermione pulled her robes on over her nightclothes, made sure her prefect badge was straight, put her wand in her pocket, and left the dormitory.

It was well past midnight, and the common room was deserted. She paused, staring at the back of the Fat Lady's portrait. Hermione had been out after curfew several times before, but she was used to the protection of the Marauder's Map or Harry's Invisibility Cloak, or even both. She hadn't been out, defenseless, at night since—since that night in her first year when Malfoy challenged Harry to a duel. She had got locked out of Gryffindor Tower and gone with them, and Ron (she sniffed wetly), Ron had argued, first with her and then with Peeves. She frowned at the portrait hole. The last time she went out after curfew without magical assistance, she had nearly been caught by Filch, had been caught by Peeves, nearly caught by Filch _again_, and almost eaten by a giant three-headed dog.

Well, it couldn't be that bad, could it? And she was no longer a first year. Hermione Disillusioned herself.

She felt some of her despondency lift as she retraced her steps to the hospital wing. She always felt better once she acted. Freed from immediate decision-making, her brain returned to the problem at hand. What did it mean, that Ron called her name? He recognized her voice, of course. Hermione allowed herself a wry smile. As much as she had talked over the last several years, Ron wasn't likely to forget the sound of her voice in a few short months. So he recognized her. Maybe he was glad to hear her, to know she was around. But glad as in, "my best friend is back," or something more?

She had thought it was something more. All that time at the Burrow last summer, prefect duties, that day in Herbology . . . she had thought they were going somewhere. That finally, after the squabbles, the arguments, the fights; the discussions, the worry, the adventure; the teasing, the games, the laughter; the long looks, the special smiles, the tentative touches, finally they were moving towards a romantic relationship. She thought about their defining moments: first year and the troll, second year and the Acromantulas, third year and the Shrieking Shack, fourth year and the Yule Ball, fifth year and the perfume at Christmas, and this year—

Hermione teared up again. Which should she choose? The changing rooms after the Slytherin match? Ron's first kiss with Lavender? The canaries? That horrible day when Ron imitated her in Transfiguration? Hearing from Professor McGonagall that Ron was _poisoned_? She clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling a sob. She _could not_ let this year be marked by nothing but fighting with Ron. She had been given another chance, and she was taking it, rules or no rules.

Hermione wiped her eyes. She didn't need to think about how to get to the hospital wing, but she did need to see where she was going. Sniffling as quietly as possible, she continued downstairs.

But what did it mean, that Ron had called her name while unconscious? Everyone had heard him. Ginny had given Hermione a knowing look. Ginny said Ron didn't like Lavender at all, not even as a friend and definitely not as a girlfriend. Ginny said Ron fancied Hermione. Ginny said Ron was only with Lavender because—well, Hermione didn't like to repeat that part of what Ginny said, even in the privacy of her own mind. Hermione frowned. Maybe Ginny knew what it meant, and she should have gone to talk to Ginny. But it was too late now.

Hermione pushed open the double doors to the hospital wing.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Hold on to your hats, folks; 2,700 words of angst coming your way.

* * *

_August 1, 1997_

_Grimmauld Place_

Hermione leaned back. "I don't want to be on my own. Could we use the sleeping bags I've brought and camp in here tonight?"

"You packed bedding too, eh?" Ron smiled at her, much more relaxed since Mr. Weasley's Patronus arrived announcing his family was safe. "Of course we can."

Hermione and Ron looked up as Harry bolted from the room.

"It's his scar," she whispered. "What are we—"

"We're not going to nag him about it," Ron said firmly.

Hermione tossed the first sleeping bag onto the floor. "I wasn't nagging! He's supposed to block that connection."

"And he knows that," Ron said, unrolling the second sleeping bag. "But he's pants at Occlumency. Not everyone is like you, brilliant at everything."

Hermione shook out the third bag with a snap. "Harry is a perfectly talented wizard. If he would just try—"

"He's probably puking in the bathroom right now, and you think that's because he's not trying? Harry said it only happens when _he_ loses control. Harry can't help that."

She dug in her beaded bag again. "I'm going to check on him."

Hermione knocked on the bathroom door, Harry's toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste in her hand. He opened it a crack. He looked dreadful; pale and sweaty, and he didn't quite meet her eyes.

"Thanks."

"Harry—"

"I'm fine, Hermione. Give me a couple of minutes, and you can have a turn."

Hermione frowned at the closed door but went back to the drawing room. Ron was pulling the cushions off of the sofa.

"What are you doing?"

"Making your bed."

"You don't have to do that. I can sleep on the floor just as well as you and Harry can." This was exactly what she didn't want, being fussed over because she was a girl.

" 'Course you can. Why should you?" Ron lined up the cushions on the floor, right next to the second sleeping bag.

Hermione swallowed. They would be close enough to touch, as close as if they were sharing a bed. "Because I don't want any special treatment—"

Ron sat back on his heels and gave her a look she couldn't interpret, almost as if she had hurt his feelings. He had been wonderful this summer, so supportive while she made the preparations to send her parents to Australia and attentive once she arrived at the Burrow. Almost like—well, like a boyfriend. And here she was arguing with him about it.

"That's very thoughtful, Ron. Thank you."

He smiled at her, and as always, her heart turned over. "You're welcome."

"Bathroom's free," Harry said, flopping onto his sleeping bag. Funny how he knew which one that was.

()()()()

_September 2, 1997_

Harry was on lookout, but Hermione sat by Ron's sickbed for the second time in six months. Six months and one day, to be exact. The dittany had healed the splinching, but he had lost a lot of blood and was weak and tired. And pale—so pale that the brightness of his hair was startling.

It was her fault. She hadn't been able to shake off Yaxley, she had brought the Death Eater inside the protection of Grimmauld Place, she had Disapparated the three of them in panic. And Ron got splinched. Horribly, terribly splinched. The look on Harry's face when he had seen him...

Hermione angled her chair a little closer to Ron. What were they going to do now?

()()()()

Ron and Hermione walked along a hedge, looking for anything that might be edible. Hermione pushed back the branches near the ground.

"Look, here's some mushrooms. I know these are okay."

"I'm sick of mushrooms," Ron grumbled, but he bent down and helped her collect them. "This is not what I expected."

"I know. All those meetings Harry had with Dumbledore, all their talk about the Horcruxes. I thought Dumbledore would have told him how to destroy them."

Ron snorted, and the locket swung forward as he stretched to reach another grouping of mushrooms. "And how to find them."

Hermione set the bucket down, reaching for a cluster of pansies at the base of a nearby tree. "We need a plan, something to do. We're just wandering from place to place hoping—"

"That Harry doesn't get us killed."

"Ron!"

"Well, aren't we? Harry doesn't have a clue what he's doing. Neither do you."

"That's not fair."

Ron threw a fistful of mushrooms in the bucket and turned to face her. "It's the truth! We might as well be back at Hogwarts for all the good we're doing out here."

Hermione looked down at the wilting flowers in her hand. _Hogwarts. Three meals a day, every day. Warm beds. Hot showers. Ginny. Fresh laundry stacked on my trunk every Monday morning. Lessons. The library. Sunny afternoons by the lake. Watching the boys practice Quidditch. Letters from Mum and Dad..._

"There's nothing else here. Let's go back."

()()()()

"Ron! _Ron!_" Hermione stared wildly around but couldn't see her best friend anywhere. "Ron, come back!" It was raining in earnest now, and she pushed her sodden hair out of her eyes, stumbling forward, searching for the glint of moonlight on pale skin, a long shadow, _anything_ that would tell her where Ron was. "Ron, you promised! _Ron!_"

There, to her right—a distinct _crack. _Hermione hurried in that direction, tripped over a root or a rock—a bloody obstacle, that's what it was—and fell headlong in the fresh mud along the riverbank. "_Ron, come back!" _He couldn't have Disapparated, he just _couldn't_ have. It was the crack of a broken branch, Ron had stepped on a branch, he was just a few feet in front of her—

Hermione scrambled to her feet and lunged toward the sound, breath coming in ragged gasps. No, no, he had promised to stay with her, promised they would help Harry. Ron had promised her they would win, promised they would have a chance. Hermione turned in circles, searching the open land around her.

Ron had lied.

()()()()

_December 27, 1997_

Hermione sat at the tent entrance, flipping pages of _Hogwarts: A History _every so often but in reality watching Ron and Harry, who were allegedly picking blackberries. _Blackberries_, she thought scathingly. _In December. _

She knew Harry was updating Ron on everything that had happened since he left (as if Ron deserved to know), and no doubt Ron was sharing his news of the outside world. Hermione burned with curiosity but refused to show it. Ron had left her—yes, her!—and not come back for weeks. Weeks and weeks of wondering, and worry, and sheer misery. Then he strolled into the tent in the middle of the night and said sorry. Well, she'd show him sorry.

"NO!" roared Ron, and Harry fell into the hedge.

After dropping her book in alarm, Hermione gave both of them her dirtiest glare. Ron made a grimace of apology and helped Harry out. Hermione looked down, turned a page, and glanced through her lashes again. They were deep in conversation, as cozy as ever.

Boys! She had never seen them argue the way they had that night, so personally, so hatefully. They had drawn wands! And now here they were, thick as thieves again. Hermione turned another page. Something had happened with that Horcrux. She had noticed the way Ron faltered in his story, Harry's quick explanation, the look that passed between them. She didn't think they were lying, exactly, just ... not telling her the whole truth. She glanced over at them again. She _hated_ not knowing. The urge to ask bubbled in her mind, hovered on the tip of her tongue, nagged at her relentlessly.

But it wasn't that simple, was it? Ron had broken his promise, to Harry and to her. She trusted him, and he had broken her heart. Again! She had—they had danced around it all summer, never quite committing their feelings to words but communicating all the same. They had worked hard to repair their friendship, and she thought they had succeeded, and then he just walked out. Harry had accepted Ron's apology, forgiven him immediately, but she couldn't do that. Hermione swallowed as the words blurred on the page.

She just couldn't forgive Ron that easily.

()()()()

_Late March 1998_

Pain. Crushing, immersive pain. Noise. Rushing wind—no, water. Jarring movement.

"Bill! HELP! _BILL_!"

Ron's voice was louder, closer. Must hold on for Ron, keep Ron and Harry safe ... copy, it's just a copy...

More movement, faster this time. Shaking pain, pain, pain. She groaned, her voice fading to a whimper as her throat burned in protest.

"BILL! FLEUR! Help me!"

Ron was scared. She tried to move, to reassure him, but everything was tight. Squeezing.

"Ron, what—oh, my god—" A deeper voice, rough but familiar.

"It's Hermione, she's unconscious, you have to make her better—"

"You're covered in blood! Ron, are you all right? Ron!" The same voice, but higher.

"Help Hermione, you have to help Hermione, she's been cursed, please, Bill, do something!"

Something wet splashed on Hermione's cheek. She tried to squirm, turn her head. No one noticed. More wetness, running into her ear, tickling.

"What eez eet?" A gasp. Flowers, beautiful flowers. _Orchideous. _"Inside. Upstairs. Hurry!"

No, no more pain, no more, no more... More wetness, under her eyes, down the sides of her nose. Pounding pain, twisting, blinding light ... noise, too much noise...

"Is she okay? Ron?"

Loony. Batty loony. No, not bat. Bird. Black bird. Rook. Chess. Ron. Must hold on for Ron...

The pounding stopped. She sighed. Darkness. Blessed, welcome darkness. More movement, she was falling, falling—

"Shh, shh, I've got you. It's okay, Hermione. You're safe now."

Ron. Softness. No more squeezing. No, no, not light, no light, please... Magic. _What's special about you is that you can do magic. You're a witch, Hermione. _Tinkling glass. No noise in the library!

The pain changed. Gone from the surface but still deep, aching pain... Cold against her lips. Metal. Bitter. Fire, her throat was burning, exploding... She was walking through purple flames, past a troll, a broken white knight ... Ron ... Ron ... must hold on for Ron...

()()()()

"'Ermione? Eet eez Fleur. You are safe now, at Shell Cottage. 'Ermione?"

Her eyelids were heavy, too heavy. More pressure, on her hand this time. A male voice, strained but very, very familiar.

"Squeeze my hand, Hermione."

She squeezed.

"That's it, love. Open your eyes for me. Come on, Hermione, wake up."

"Ron." She frowned; no sound came out. She tried again. Nothing. Hermione squeezed his hand again, wanting him to know she heard him.

"Please, Hermione, wake up."

She concentrated—oh, that hurt—blinked, and opened her eyes. "_Ron." _Not even a whisper, and she wanted so badly to say his name. He had screamed hers. He had definitely called her name, over and over, and this time, she knew what it meant. Tears welled in her eyes.

He reached up and brushed them away. "Shh, you're fine. We're safe now. Harry is too," he added, seeing that she was trying to speak. He looked up, and she saw Fleur standing at the other side of her bed. "Can't you do anything about her voice?"

"Does eet 'urt, 'Ermione?"

Hermione put a hand to her throat and, very carefully, moved her head from side to side. Not there, at least.

"Rest and fluids, and 'er voice weell come back soon enough, Ron."

A soft knock and Bill entered the room, levitating a tea tray. Ron slid his arms around her and lifted her gently, as if she were made of glass, and Fleur rearranged the pillows to support her. Hermione took the steaming cup with a grateful smile.

Ron opened his mouth, but Bill interrupted. "Cream, no sugar, just like you said, Ron."

Hermione shifted her smile to Ron but it disappeared quickly. His lip was cut and swollen, and an ugly bruise darkened his left eye. She reached her hand out to touch his face.

"_Oui_, let me heal that, Ron." Fleur smiled at Hermione as she moved to Ron's side. "'e would not let us do any'zing for 'im until we 'ad treated you first." Two quick waves of her wand, and Ron's appearance was returned to normal. "So gallant, _non_?"

Hermione sipped her tea and nodded.

"How are you feeling? Can you talk now?"

Hermione took another swallow and tried. "You think I talk too much." Her voice was reedy and thin, but audible.

Ron didn't smile. "Say something smart."

More tea. "Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration states that any object may be transfigured into any other object with the proper application of force, concentration, and incantation. The ease and permanence of the transfiguration is determined by the physical similarity of the objects in question and the complexity of the transfigured object, respectively, with inanimate to animate transfigurations being the most difficult. It also governs conjuring spells and gives the five principal exceptions to creating something from nothing."

"Is that true?" Ron demanded, turning to Bill.

"Precisely," Bill said.

Ron's shoulders relaxed. "Know-it-all," he said, smiling widely.

Hermione grinned back. They had escaped from Malfoy Manor, she hadn't lost her mind, and she was feeling better, if a bit weak and shaky. Fleur left her a draught of pain potion, and she and Bill left the room. Hermione leaned back against the pillows.

Ron was staring at her neck.

"What?" She raised her hand and felt the edges of a small cut.

"I'm sorry."

"Ron—"

He leaned forward, bracing one hand next to her hip. "I'm so sorry, Hermione, I tried to get them to take me instead, I tried to get to you, but there was no way out—"

"I heard you," she whispered, staring straight into crystalline blue. "Calling my name. I heard you. I knew you were coming to rescue me."

Ron reached out with one large hand, pushing her hair behind her shoulder. "I promised." His thumb traced the knife wound in the hollow of her throat, and she knew he could feel her pulse racing beneath his fingers.

He had. The day he came back, when Harry was on guard duty, Ron had caught her alone and promised he would earn her trust, that he would never leave her again.

"I love you," he blurted. "No, don't say anything. I know—" He swallowed. "I know it's rubbish timing, and we're focusing on Harry, and the Horcruxes, but I need you to know. I need you to know I love you."

"I know." No more doubts, no more worries. Everyone who had been at Malfoy Manor knew Ron Weasley was in love with Hermione Granger. She couldn't tear her eyes from his. Ron sometimes looked at her this way, but never—never directly. He'd never let her _look back_. "I know, Ron."

"Good." He forced a smile, smoothed the blanket. "You should rest, get some sleep." He glanced out the window and his body stiffened.

"What?" Her voice cracked, and she finished the last of her tea. "What's wrong?"

He hesitated, and Hermione put as much steel as possible into her farce of a voice. "I'm fine. Tell me."

"It's Dobby. He didn't make it."

"What?" The pain was back, a thousand hot pokers centered in her chest.

"He Apparated into the cellar, brought Dean and Luna and Ollivander here, then came back for me and Harry. Bellatrix, she—she threw her knife, and it caught him in the chest. He's dead. He saved our lives, and now he's d-dead."

"No." Hermione felt the tears spill over. "No, not Dobby."

Ron nodded, holding out his arms. Hermione buried her face in his chest and cried. She cried for Dobby, the brave house-elf who was so proud to be free. For Harry, whose loss was never-ending. She cried for Ron, and herself, and for every blood traitor and Muggle-born and magical misfit running for their lives.

It _would not_ be in vain.

* * *

a/n: Various lines of dialogue are quoted from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ by J.K. Rowling. Thanks to **vancabreuniter **for betaing, and to all of you who have reviewed. I will be writing for Camp NaNoWriMo in August, so this may be my last post for a while, but don't worry, I'll be back!

keeptheotherone


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